Tales of Luthien's Brief Courtships
by evenstar8705
Summary: These are intended to be more flash fiction than the novellas I've already written containing these characters and this universe. It's also different in that I'm not paying so much attention to canon. The content will be more mature, bordering upon erotica at times. These shorter chapters will focus on Luthien, Daeron, Celegorm, Curufin, Celebrimbor, and others.
1. Chapter 1 Horseplay

Tales of Lúthien's Brief Courtship

Lúthien could feel Jasper the ostler's son eyeing her from across the stable. She had known him since childhood. He had been an occasional playmate, one of her favorites actually. He was a rambunctious boy with dirty blonde hair and azure eyes. Mablung took credit for training her in horsemanship, but Jasper deserved more than an honorable mention. He told her all about horses. Then they would play hide and seek and tag. She would wrestle in the hay with him until Laisie or Mablung pulled them apart, clucking their tongues disapprovingly. It had been innocent horse play before they hit puberty. Now there was a queer feeling in her stomach when Jasper put his arm on her. He gave her a shove and she toppled harmlessly into a pile of hay. She felt a thrill, not fear or anger from his prank.

"Aren't we getting a little old for this, Jasper?" she giggled despite the words.

"If so, we must stop growing old this instant!" he replied.

He dove at her and they rolled about, trying to pin the other. She knew he was holding himself back. He was strong but gentle like the horses he bred and broke. He smelled of leather and horse hair and oats, but these were good smells. Earthy smells, and the scents of childhood. She enjoyed his touch but wished he would not hold back so much. His hot breath was on her neck. She wondered if he would be a skilled lover. She wondered if he would be as big as one of his horses and if those hands that were so firm with the animals wouldn't also caress and stroke her. She had never been broken in by any male still. She was no child. She was a maiden, ripening, curious and…

"Your highness," Daeron the minstrel's voice cracked through the air like a whip. "Has this oaf hurt you?"

"I assure you he has not!" Lúthien snapped.

Jasper sprang away from her as though she was contaminated goods. It hurt that he had been rolling around with her so vigorously and on the turn of a coin he was too much of a coward or too fickle to take the next step. He was crimson to his ear tips.

Daeron glared at him, "What gives you the right to put hands upon the Princess?"

"Enough, Daeron! We were only playing."

"Playing what, I wonder?"

Lúthien did not answer and Jasper continued to be mute. Even his horse whinnied, showing more stones than his keeper.

"Leave us," Daeron commanded.

"Yes, milord."

Jasper seemed all too eager to leave. Daeron reached out his hand to help Lúthien to her feet but she was hurt, frustrated, and angry.

"I do not need your help, Daeron!" she tossed a clump of hay into his face.

"Forgive me for ruining your fun, your highness, but that stable boy might have been trying to take liberties whether they were welcome or not."

"They were- Not unwelcome," Lúthien's cheeks became red and she hated herself for admitting that, even to Daeron whom she trusted with everything. "So don't try to vilify the poor boy."

Daeron frowned, "It does not matter."

"What?" Lúthien was incredulous. "It does matter very much whether I welcomed his advances or not!"

"I mean it doesn't matter because everyone knows Jasper is bonded to Willow."

Lúthien felt as though her stomach had dropped into her feet and a painful lump was in her throat.

"I did not know that."

"Of course you didn't and he would never have told you."

He stroked her cheek to catch a tear from her eye. Ashamed, she buried herself in the hay and began to sob.

"Little princess," Daeron said soothingly. "You know how I hate to see you cry."

"You would rather I be angry?"

"Are you? At Jasper? At me? At yourself?"

"A little of all three," she admitted. "I liked Jasper. You do not understand. Of all the young bucks that have thrown themselves at me either subtly or not so subtly, he was one of the few I might actually like to… like to… well… you know."

"Yes, I think I understand. And?"

"I thought you stopped us because you are like everyone else."

"What does that mean?"

"No one will give me any freedom in this kingdom. Least of all my father. It is unfair. I should be able to learn to enjoy my own body with whomever I please. That is how the common folk do it."

"That is not true."

"Yes it is! How many maidens have you courted, Daeron? I mean, simply courted, not bonded with?"

"About half a dozen."

"And how many have you bonded with?"

It was Daeron's turn to blush. "Two."

"You see. You are only a little older than me. Willow, she would always whisper to me about her suitors. She told me how it was the first time she bonded. She is younger than me."

"Well, Luthien, you could too."

"No. I can't. Half the elves at court have written me letters of love or sent me gifts or flirt with me in the hall. I do not know half of them half so well as I should like and I like less than half of them half as well as they deserve. None of them are worthy enough for my father and they know it. The common folk. It is even worse! They know they have no chance on earth or in heaven. They do not send gifts or letters. They simply call out bawdy jokes, the less civilized of them or do just as Jasper does. They give me hungry looks. They try to touch me. Just the other day Searos was pushing and shoving the other boys at the festival to try to dance with me. And then he grabbed my arm so roughly and spoke of undying love. He asked me to be his mistress. Told me as long as I didn't tell father he wouldn't tell no one either. Jasper is a friend. Jasper is actually very attractive. Jasper made me feel things. And then you told me he is bonded to Willow."

"Because it is true."

"It is true. And it is a slight betrayal. Perhaps Jasper never intended it. Some fellows lose control around me if they even think they stand a ghost of a chance. They have none at all, in truth. They only hope for a temporary romp. Even that, I cannot have."

"So you are saying you resent that there are so many that are willing to have you, but you cannot have even the ones that you want. And is there anyone you love?"

"Love?" Lúthien poked her head out of the hay. "Father does not want me to love anyone but him. And can I trust those that profess it? It is my beauty that plagues me more than anything. Ever since I was declared 'the fairest in the world' some think they love me but all they want is to bask in my perceived beauty. I am not beautiful! I am pretty perhaps, but I have seen some girls running about that have beautiful golden hair. There are rumors of girls with red hair even. And I will never be as lovely as my mother. She is the fairest. I do not know how I wound up with such a superficial title!"

"Because you are, Lúthien. What is wrong with beauty?"

"It drives people to do silly things."

"You are named the fairest not just because of your physical beauty. You have the loveliest of voices. I am the greatest minstrel of Doriath. That is not lip service. You dance gracefully. You are a princess that is kind as well as fair."

"There are many maids in Doriath that are beautiful and sing and dance too."

"But none are masters in all those areas and more, as you are. And you are a child of a Maia. Do not forget that."

"I just want to be a maiden! I want to be loved with all the passion a person is capable of! I want to be free! I want to experience the physical pleasures of love as well as the rest of it! I am denied all of these things! It is not fair!"

"So you seek only the physical pleasure right now?"

She was silent at that, "I suppose. I thought that would be the easiest and the best part, at least in the moment. I am so lonely, Daeron. And so curious. What is it like? I want to stop the spurious suitors in their tracks. I do not wish to break the hearts of those that are sincere that I cannot possibly love or wed, which no doubt will be all of them. So what can I do?"

And then Daeron had it.

"Let us play at being lovers. It'll be a fun game."


	2. Chapter 2 Celebrimbor

Celebrimbor was lucky when it came to his looks. He had inherited the best features from the male line of his family. His mother's family had left little imprint upon him. The Teleri would never recognize him as one of their own. He was a Fëanoreon. The blue eyes gave him away mostly. The hero of the Noldor had seven sons. Most of them were born with dark hair. The twins got the rare and flaming red from their mother Nerdanel. But all of them got Fëanor's blue eyes. Celebrimbor was blessed with those eyes too, and his hair took on a rich shade of auburn. He was tall, young, energetic, and strong. He was also showing an aptitude for his grandfather's profession. This was both a blessing and a curse. It meant that so much was expected of him. Fëanor's skill as a smith was the stuff of legend now. He was not likely to have an equal among Elves, Dwarves, or Men. His own father, Curufin, was not only eclipsed by his sire, there were some that said there were several Dwarf smiths were far better and that even Eöl the Dark Elf had been more talented than him.

Celebrimbor showed much more potential, though his father would have died before he admitted it. His relationship with his father was complicated to say the least. Since his mother had died when Celebrimbor was too young to remember, he had little choice than to shadow his father. There was a time he worshiped him and believed everything he said, but as the young blacksmith grew older, his father became more distant, and he began to hear more and more disturbing whispers and rumors about Curufin the Crafty.

He shuffled past the forge doors with great difficulty. His father glowered at him as he attempted to sit in a stone chair and missed the seat entirely. He fell hard on his rump. He grinned sheepishly and crouched like a gargoyle on the floor, trying to make it look like he had intended to squat on the ground all along. Curufin wasn't buying it.

"I swear all that you have done since your last name day is drink every night," he scolded. "Your craftsmanship is starting to suffer from it. Your grandfather would be very ashamed of you."

The youth, who was usually hard to provoke or upset, snapped back, "And if you told me you never spent half your adolescent years in your cups, I would call you a liar."

Despite the back-talk, Curufin smiled, "My brother has been telling you tales. He was abed this morning. He must be in worse shape than you. He could never hold his liquor like I could."

"I out drank him too," Celebrimbor said proudly.

"The wine flowed freely in Valinor then in our youth," Curufin mused. "It was not only a different time, it was another realm entirely. I believe only Aule truly forged weapons of any kind. He taught me, but they were only ceremonious. Now we labor day and night to repair and craft new swords for-"

"Killing. And sport."

"For guarding and shielding our lands and people. Truly, son, why do you have such a foul attitude toward war craft?"

"You are not going to make me forge swords again, are you, father? I promise you I won't do it, even if I weren't still partially drunk. I made a solemn vow last night, and Uncle Celegorm was my witness."

"A vow?" Curufin raised an eyebrow. "Certainly you did not swear the Oath of Fëanor?"

Curufin snorted, "The Oath? No. This one was a personal vow that I made to myself. I swore that henceforth I would not craft weapons anymore. I am going to craft things of beauty."

Now Curufin was truly angry. His temper was not as black as his brother's Caranthir, but of the seven brothers, his was certainly a close second.

"Please tell me that you are joking!"

Celebrimbor shook his head. He was sobering quickly and the jovial spirits that possessed liquor was fading from his body.

"Are you telling me that my son and the only grandson of Fëanor, the greatest smith of all the Children of Eru has chosen to waste his gifts by becoming a mean and lowly _goldsmith_?"

"You think I would only work with gold? Father, you forget the other metals and ores of our craft! There is shining silver, glamorous garnets, ravishing rubies, enviable emeralds, astounding amethysts, stunning sapphires, perfect pearls of black, white, and pink and yellow! Of course, we cannot forget about the mother of all of these: mithril!"

"Pretty baubles and useless trinkets! I would rather you decide that you preferred wood working and made instruments or children's toys! Besides wooing a maiden, jewels gain you absolutely nothing! You stupid, foolish boy!"

"You mean make pipes and harps so that Uncle Maglor could play them?"

Curufin turned from a deep shade of red to a dangerous purple. Maglor was considered the black sheep of the seven sons. Meadhros was the leader and eldest of the seven. Celegorm was the charismatic and handsome hunter and beast master. Curufin was the smith and forged impenetrable armor and deadly weapons. Caranthir was the builder and keeper of great war forts, and the twins Amrod and Amras were the mischievous tricksters and rogues that preferred to battle Orcs with wits and cunning as well as with weapons and hunting dogs.

Maglor had a great talent of his own. He was a great minstrel, second only to Daeron of Doriath, but his gift was considered soft and far too humble for one of his kin. He had become a pacifist as the years passed. He had been the most reluctant of the brothers to swear his father's now infamous Oath and almost immediately regretted it. Now even the public knew that Maglor would have sealed his lips and spoken out against Fëanor if he could turn back time. Meadhros and the twins could forgive him for this, but Celebrimbor knew that his father, Celegorm, and Caranthir never would. They felt that Maglor was a coward and his actions a betrayal to their father's memory. Even as children, the other six brothers bullied the second son and named him the runt of the litter. No one was more brutal than Curufin had been to him.

"Perhaps I should send you to Maglor's Gap so that you can make him a gold harp after all. You could add gems to it and shape them into seven of the seven pointed star! You could make the strings out of your sweet heart's hair and live in peace all the rest of your days. In the meantime, the soldiers' swords will notch and their shields will break. Their armor will chink and fail them. But at least the rings and necklaces that you fashion for them will not rust or turn colors!"

Celebrimbor threw back his head and laughed. He was not shy with smiles, but the sound of his laugh was rare. When it did burst from him, it was an astonishing thing. It took his father aback.

"What in the name of the Valar is so funny?"

"Father, who is the greatest smith that ever lived?"

"Your grandsire!" Curufin answered in a heartbeat.

"And what was his greatest creation?"

"The Silmarils."

"And what were they?"

Curufin didn't answer.

"What were they?"

Curufin said resentfully, "Jewels."

"But not just any jewels!" Celebrimbor sprang to his feet. "They were living jewels! Is that not what the legends say? Did you not see them with your own eyes, father? Is there an truth to that claim? They were made with the stuff of Valinor, the Blessed Realm! They were his heart and soul. They were magic!"

Curufin was silent a while before he said slowly, "I saw them, but I could not possibly tell you what they were. Father would not reveal the secret of their making. Ordinary jewels they were not. They were holy, pure, and stolen from us."

"But what if I could recreate them, father?" Celebrimbor was beginning to get worked up in his excitement. "What if I could discover the secret? What if I could create objects just as powerful, beautiful, and significant? Why, therefore, should I waste my time making the same boring weapons and armor if I can make something so much greater? Furthermore, what if that power can be used for good? What if I can preserve life instead of take it? What if I can manipulate elements, time and space? What if I can heal and remake what has been destroyed?"

"It is not possible. My father created the Silmarils only by capturing the power of the divine. We live in the Marred World. Stick to swords," Curufin said flippantly.

"It can be done," Curufin insisted. "I will find a way without stealing from the Valar or Eru. I will use transmutation. I will dabble in alchemy. I will make my mark on history. You will see."

Curufin sneered, "Fine. If you want to piss away your time and talent on such fanciful ambitions, I will not stop you. This obsession will pass."


	3. Chapter 5? The Glass Garden

Celebrimbor's first sight of Lúthien was in the glass gardens. The people of Nargothrond dwelt in an underground city. It was not quite as developed as Menegroth. The Sindar's cave-city was older by centuries. The Naugrim there had imitated a stone forest using stone and sometimes real living wood. The root system of the great tree Hirilorn snaked through the caves as well as glowing fungus that served as lamps and moss that gave the feel of natural grass. The throne of King Thingol was carved from the trunk of Hirilorn itself. The river Esgalduin streamed in through the main cave. There were bridges leading over it and sophisticated damns to create lagoons. There were beasts of carved marble, wood, and even precious ivory imported from distant lands and encrusted with precious gems for eyes glowing all shades of colors. The Queen Melian had tamed nightingales and other multi-colored birds. They perched in trees and sang beautifully as they made their nests in beautiful archways wrapped in hanging moss and vines. Thanks to this perfect harmony of Elf and Dwarf craft, the Sindar did not pine so much for true forests; so beautiful and life-like was their own. Even if they did, it was safe to venture forth from home. They often did upon warm festival nights and hunted in great parties by day. Melian's Girdle protected the realm from most evil.

Such was not the case in Nargothrond. It was a great city, make no mistake, but it was ranked third amongst the Hidden Kingdoms. It was far younger and less populous than its sister-city Menegroth. There were fewer Dwarf laborers and no magic Queen. In fact, there was no queen at all, no heirs, and even the King was absent at present. The Enemy was closer. The land above ground was dubious and the weather harsher. The terrain was not as forested as in Doriath and the river was above ground. The realm was guarded with swords and bows. It would take decades still, perhaps centuries, to equal Menegroth. The Noldoli remained cooped up in the Caves longer than the Sindar and became sick for want of light and air and the sight of things green. Lúthien had fled her home, claiming she felt caged, only to find herself in a city far more stifling than her own. To make matters worse, the princes Celegorm and Curufin would not permit her to leave the Caves.

The Dwarves had come up with the ingenious method of glass gardens scattered throughout Nargothrond fed with sunlight from a system of shafts and mirrors. With the help of the Noldor, they fostered flowers, ferns, shrubs, saplings, and toadstools large enough to be utilized as chairs. The glass gardens served as a sanctuary for birds too. Though not as tame as Melian's birds, they made the place more cheerful. Almost every family in Nargothrond kept a prized song bird in gilded cages in their rooms. The gardens were like little glimpses of Arcadia and eased the sickness of subterranean life for some. It was the only place Lúthien was allowed outside of her room.

Celebrimbor had come to stroll through the gardens and espied her from afar. He hid himself amongst some tall hemlocks, too shy to greet her. She was being escorted by his uncle Prince Celegorm. He was now her betrothed.

That announcement had been made only the night before and the Princess had only just arrived the day before that. Celebrimbor was confused and he was not the only one. It seemed a perfect match. Lúthien was considered the fairest of all maids and Celegorm was named among the most handsome of the princes of the Eldar. Both were charismatic characters. She was a performer with a voice of a Maia, and he was known for his powerful voice that could stir men to battle. She had the grace of a dancer, he the grace of a hunter. Together, they would unite the Sindar and Noldor. She was her father's only heir, and Celebrimbor knew he may very well be gazing upon the future King and Queen of Nargothrond. Most of the people were pleasantly surprised by the engagement, but there were a lot of questions.

Celebrimbor wondered how King Thingol had been so easily parted from his daughter, especially to one of the sons of Feanor. There was an uneasy peace between Fëanor's folk and the Sindar. For ages, Thingol had hoped to wed her to the bachelor King Finrod, but no love blossomed there. Maeglin of Gondolin was mentioned, but that Hidden Kingdom was far away and Prince Gil-galad was far too young. Even if he were not kin, Celeborn was wed to Artanis. The Seven Sons were never considered and none had ever asked. Not even Celegorm who seemed so smitten with her now. He had also heard rumor that Lúthien was in love with a mortal man.

_Maybe Beren and Finrod are dead_, Celebrimbor thought. _Why on earth would Morgoth keep a mortal man alive? Finrod he may keep prisoner, but Beren isn't even a prince among Men anymore. Maybe this has been confirmed and Lúthien is too grieved to care who she weds now or some spell has been lifted from her. Thingol always insisted it was never love but an evil enchantment the mortal somehow cast on her. Maybe Thingol is the one pushing this marriage. If Celegorm is willing to take her and seal a permanent alliance, Thingol would gain a great deal after all. It may not be his first choice, but anything to keep his daughter from following her mortal lover into the grave._

He observed the couple for a while, hoping to see mutual chemistry between them. She sat upon the grass. Celegorm was sincerely trying to lighten her mood. He picked the best flowers for her and tried to gift them to her.

"What have you done?"

"I have picked these flowers for you, sweetling. They are _eglantine_."

"Wild roses," she murmured.

"Are they not beautiful? They are not as beautiful as you, but they smell sweet and are bright and colorful."

"They are beautiful. But you have cut them from their roots and they are dying even as we speak. The days of flowers are numbered so short already. I would have rather you let them alone."

Celegorm tossed the flowers aside, clearly annoyed, "I apologize for offending you. I meant only to cheer you up."

"If you would cheer me up, take me to the surface to see the flowers growing in their natural state."

"And see you run off? Dear, you must think me brainless. Besides, any flower up there is growing before your feet. _Uilos, aeglos, asphodel_, lilies and irises…"

He began pointing out each one and remarking upon every mildly beautiful or interesting plant or bird. But Lúthien said nothing. She didn't seem interested. She stared at her feet.

"I heard in the songs that the flowers _elanor _and _niphredil_ grow wherever your bare feet touch soil," Celegorm tried a different tactic. "The Naugrim and Noldor have hunted out every known flower to plant here in these glass gardens, but we have none of those since they mostly grow only in Doriath. You birthed the flowers yourself, they say. What I would give to see that!"

"What I want, you could never give," Lúthien replied coldly. "They sprouted when I was born, so you might say my mother 'birthed' them. And I prefer to keep my sandals on, thank you."

"Are you embarrassed?" Celegorm laughed. "Does it make you feel abnormal when flowers grow at your feet? They say only the Ainur have that power and only those in Yavanna's service. Do you suppose you are kin?"

"I do not know. My mother never speaks of the Valar or whom she served, if anyone. Sometimes I think my mother was always set apart. Yes, it does make me feel abnormal."

"You create life. That is a miracle! You should be proud of such a gift and you should show me!"

"For what purpose?" Lúthien asked suspiciously. "Especially if you are just going to tear the flowers to pieces or place them in a jar for your mantelpiece to wilt slowly for your amusement. They are living things, not ornaments. And neither am I!"

"Of course not. I promise I will not harm your precious flowers. I have learned my lesson. You have much to teach me, it seems."

"You would learn only what you deem profitable."

"Are you going to take off your sandals?"

"No."

"Do not make me rip them off."

His tone was mischievous, but Lúthien was not charmed. She tucked her feet beneath her and clasped her knees. Celegorm frowned.

"If you will not show me, would you sing for me?"

"Like one of your pet song birds?"

She was not bothering to hide the bitterness from her voice anymore and she gave the prince a look of pure disdain. When Celegorm reached for her hand, she tried to take it back. He lifted her to her feet, refusing to let go, and squeezed her gently. He stole a quick peck on her lips. She did not return the stolen kiss and the look did not leave her face.

_It's as I feared. Her father is forcing her into this,_ Celebrimbor thought and his heart went out to her. _I would hate if my father forced me into a marriage. I don't think my Uncle is unwilling. There's real tenderness in his eyes when he looks at her. She is very beautiful. No red-blooded male would refuse her. I wouldn't want her if she didn't want me. Why would Celegorm agree to wed an unwilling maiden? Does he hope to woo her before the wedding? Does he really expect her heart to turn in a mere seven days?_

_What if he doesn't care if she is willing or not?_ That thought sent a chill down his spine. _He would never force her, would he? Is it not a sin in the eyes of the Valar? But since when have the Sons been afraid to sin? They have killed before. My father too. They said their oath drove them to it, but I wonder. The same oath he badgers me to take someday. _

Yes, his father had been badgering him and constantly mocking him for his choice to forge anything other than weapons and armor. He had already made a ring, but not just any ring. He had finally forged magic into the little copper band. The ring softened footfall and made the wearer appear as though far away or transparent. Soon, he might make a ring that would make the wearer appear invisible to others! Instead of praising him, his father had called him a toymaker and prankster.

When he asked his father about Lúthien, Curufin was cryptic.

"The girl is half-mad," he said lamely. "Huan found her on the Road, barely escaping the jaws of Sauron's wolves. She claimed to be on a quest to rescue Finrod and Beren. We begged her to return with us to Nargothrond and to safety. We hoped to dissuade her from the quest. Celegorm is half-mad himself. He says he loves the girl. So now he is going to marry her. They're a good match. They're mad!"

"What of Beren?"

"He is dead."

"What proof do you have of that?"

Curufin sighed, "Do you really think anyone believes him still alive?"

"Lúthien, obviously."

"She is in denial."

"What does Thingol make of all this?"

Curufin hesitated, "Celegorm is negotiating with him."

"What does that mean?" Celebrimbor was thunderstruck. "You mean he hasn't given his approval of this marriage?"

"He will."

"How do you know? And what if the wedding date comes and he still has not finished negotiating away his daughter?"

"I told you, the girl is in no state to care for herself or make decisions and her father kept her locked up. He is a tyrant that does not deserve his daughter."

"If she is in no 'state' then why would Celegorm marry her?"

His father laughed, "Did you look at her?"

Celebrimbor did not laugh, "Why are you seen sneaking in and out of her chamber at night?"

Curufin clenched his jaw and refused to say more.

That had merely been a rumor Celebrimbor heard in passing that morning. He didn't believe it when he heard it and had thrown it into the conversation just to see his father's reaction. Now, his heart sank and he felt cold sweat beading upon his temples when he returned to his forge.

_I will make a ring_, he determined. _I will make myself invisible and find out the truth of these matters._


End file.
